


shattered pieces on the floor

by catsandanimenerd



Series: we're only human [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Crying, Gen, How do tags even work, Keith is awkward, Lance is probably an ugly crier lets be real, Langst, M/M, but whats new, dont really wanna give anything away w the tags, i actually love writing sad shit, i was under the impression that langst was an actual tag, im an ugly crier too, its my kink, ive had this account for a year or something and i still dont know, my other kink is nAME DROPPING THE TITLE IN THE FIC, oh well, the klance is more or less implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 23:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10604097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsandanimenerd/pseuds/catsandanimenerd
Summary: In which Lance is a mess on the floor and Keith doesn’t think he can fix it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> you can see this as connected to my other voltron fics, def set before that last one i wrote

There’s a damp heat surrounding him as he lounges on the couch in the living room, bugs buzzing loudly outside in the summer sun. His clothes are soaked in sweat, the green jacket familiar around his shoulders. He grunts, pulling his arms free from its’ hold, and tosses the jacket over the back of the stained yellow couch. A shudder runs down his frame as a cool breeze floats into the house, caressing his warmed skin like a careless lover. The day is just starting, but he has nowhere to go, no one to  _ be _ , and nothing to do with it and he’s ok with the notion of lazing around.

A frown marrs Lance’s face as he sits up properly, head cocked to the side. There’s an unnatural stillness in the air, and his stomach sinks as the quiet-save for the chirping of bugs and seagulls crying for food-stretches on into an eternity. His home is never supposed to be quiet like this, and the anxiety of the silence crawls over his skin, sinking deep until it sits heavy in his chest. 

He’s afraid to break the silence, though, and Lance can’t help but fear and wonder. Where are his parents? Where are his siblings? Surely they wouldn’t have left the house without Lance. No one in his family would leave him  _ or _ anyone else behind without at least telling them. He bites the inside of his cheek lightly, enough to irritate but not enough to hurt. His mouth tingles and he chews on the delicate skin rapidly, the scrape of his back teeth soothing the anxiety but not the skin deep ache that races across his body. 

Coming to a decision, Lance rolls off the couch as graceful as a cat, landing on his palms and knees. The pull of the carpet scrapes against them, irritating the tenuous hold he has on his impending breakdown. He glances briefly at his jacket, deciding to leave it as it is. He doesn’t really need it in this heat, isn’t sure why he had it on in the first place. His steps are heavy, like the toll of the bell, and he feels like a man headed to the gallows as he slides open the screen door.

The sun is shining so brightly overhead and the white sand, the sparkling tint of the ocean water, reflects it so perfectly that it takes Lance a moment to adjust his eyes as he steps outside onto the beach. A gathering of seagulls preen and push themselves into the water in the eternity and a half it takes him to step onto the sand. Lance reminisces shortly, of how much he hated the feeling of the sand-coarse against his smooth foot-and how he grew to love it slipping between his toes. He remembers his mother scolding him and his siblings, both older and younger, for dragging it into the house like it was mud clinging to their cheeks and clothing. 

The gentle wind ruffles his hair, and Lance opens his mouth to taste the familiar tang of sea salt and brine on his tongue and in his nose. Something is wrong, however, and Lance furrows his brows and steps further onto the beach. The nearby seagulls squawk at him, a few stretching their wings and flying away, others waddling in the opposite direction. He used to love watching them, feeding them, and sometimes chasing them as a child, fascinated by their behaviors. Now he pays them little mind.

Lance inhales through his nose, and the ball of dread in his gut intensifies. There is no scent of the ocean to be found, nor is there the smell of sunshine on his skin, of an intense, humid heat that drags his clothes and slicks his skin with sweat. Tears burn behind his eyes and a sob chokes his throat, a gentle brush of an ancient  **_O C E A N_ ** touching his mind with concern. 

The dam bursts when Keith steps into the room, and the illusion of  _ home _ breaks, lying in shattered pieces on the floor between them. He can’t help it when the hot tears fall from his lashes, carving a path down his reddening cheeks, and revealing the heartache that sits around the corner at any given moment. 

“Lance? What’s wrong?” Keith asks, the panic and confusion and worry evident in his voice. Lance shakes his head at him, gestures to the machinery around them with a quivering lip.

“I-I was  _ ho-home _ ,” he manages to push out from between trembling teeth, his knees weak. Keith’s expression changes, then, a sympathy for Lance that the Cuban boy doesn’t want to acknowledge, doesn’t want to  _ see _ . 

(And Keith doesn’t know  _ how _ to comfort Lance, who loves his ocean and his planet and his beach with a  _ ferocity _ that Keith can never hope to mimic or match because Keith has never been home, not really. He thinks, for the moment between heartbeats, that maybe home doesn’t necessarily have to be the place you grew up, where nostalgia covers your irises in a pretty rose that turns sour with time. He thinks it can be the bonds you’ve forged with others, whether they’re familial or romantic, but he  _ can’t _ tell that to Lance, whose glasses are so thick that he can’t see the past beyond them and whose eyes may as well be dyed an ugly pink.)

“I’m sorry,” is what Keith manages to choke out, awkward, mouth unable to form the words he wants to say. Lance shakes his head at that, and Keith can’t help but rush forward to wipe away the salty tears that pour from Lance’s eyes. 

“Keith, I-I’m tired. I just wanna go home,” he admits quietly, arms hugging his sides like he’s trying to hold himself together, like he’s trying in vain to keep himself from shattering and lying on the cold, unforgiving floor in bits and pieces of a puzzle of a human. A mournful ache settles deep within Keith’s bones as he wraps his arms around Lance, keeping him glued together in one giant, broken piece of a person. Lance can’t bear to look in his face, not anymore, and hides his own in Keith’s neck. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith apologizes, like a broken record. He feels so helpless and frustration churns his gut into mincemeat. Hunk would know a temporary cure to Lance’s heartache. Pidge would know how to get Lance to smile again. Shiro would know what to say. Hell, Coran and Allura could relate, could recall fond memories and trade fun stories to ease the ache for a moment. 

Keith holds him closer, though, cradles his sobbing body through the worst of it, and he comes to realize that sometimes, you don’t always need words to comfort. His fingers tangle in Lance’s hair, nails scraping against his scalp in a motion that Shiro had done for him before, during the times he’d been sick and feverish and calling out for a father that simply wasn’t there. Even though Lance is a smidge taller, Keith manages to pull him into his side, cheek against feverish cheek. 

(They don’t talk about it, not out loud, after Lance settles down and cleans himself up but Keith sees it in little slices of time. It’s in the distant stares when Lance looks at Blue, the roaring  **_R I V E R_ ** of her mind rushing through him and reminding him of the gentleness of the bottom of a pool. It’s the slightest hesitation when Lance speaks, that half second when he must remind himself of the language barriers that could crop up. It’s the way he banters with Pidge, ruffles her hair like he would for an annoying younger sister. It’s when he takes a hit meant for one of the other Paladins, a smirk on his lips and a fierce protectiveness in his eyes that any older sibling would recognize.)

(There’s only one cure for Lance’s longing, but Keith hopes that the sight of the stars twinkling in the distance, the swirling purple cosmos expanding ever onward, will become his home one day and he won’t be lonely anymore.)

(He also hopes, selfishly, that Lance will see something in Keith that makes him filled to the brim with so much happiness that he won’t ever long for the blue of the ocean or the tang of the salt in the air.)

**Author's Note:**

> yesterday was really warm and this came out of that somehow and i needed to write it-i've also got a few other ideas and maybe a :3c superhero fic since im on a superhero kick rn :?? :3c time will only tell,,,,maybe i'll write that scream queens-esque college murder mystery fic, or that magic fic i have in my head.,,,,,,who knows tho im extremely depressed so i mean its whatever i can manage


End file.
